


There's No Place Like The War Room in Windhelm

by TourmalineQueen



Series: Rozenn the Breton [23]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, inappropriate behaviour in the war room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 04:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20651477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TourmalineQueen/pseuds/TourmalineQueen
Summary: Written for the Skyrim KinkmemeGive me homecomings!Stormcloak, Imperial, Thalmor; don't care. Race? Non-issue. Gender? Don't matter. DB,NPC, OC? Knock your lights out. Spouse, kids, parents, siblings, dogs? Go wild, best buddy.I just really need some feel goods of a solider coming home right nowPlease?





	There's No Place Like The War Room in Windhelm

"Ugh," Rozenn grunted, shifting her too-heavy pack, filled with all manner of Dwarven trinkets, from one shoulder to the other. She smiled weakly, despite her discomfort, for she knew she was but a short walk from Windhelm, home and her husband.

She didn't mind parting from him, because she knew they would be together again soon enough (or not soon enough, but bearably soon) but seeing the adventurer Katria's broken body in Arkngthamz and knowing that the Nord had died, unmissed and unmourned in the depths of Skyrim, had rattled Rozenn more than she cared to admit. She wanted Galmar; to hold him, and feel his arms wrap about her and squeeze the breath from her lungs.

She took a deep breath of the chilly air and watched it puff out in a cloud of steam, settled her too-heavy pack once more and set off, walking slowly towards Windhelm's Stables. Once she passed the stables she knew she would be almost home.

She snorted, thinking that if she had told herself a year ago that Galmar Stone-Fist would be the reason she wanted to drop a pack full of priceless (but pricey) dwemer artifacts and run home happy she would have laughed and laughed. And yet... There was always something honourable about him, something admirable underneath the gruff, blunt, almost cold-hearted Nord warrior. And how she loved him... She could not count all the ways he made her happy, how she hoped *she* made *him* happy in return.

Finally she crossed the massive stone bridge and was at the City Gate. She smiled, resettled her pack (vowing next time to wear her Thieves' Guild armour with all those extra pockets) and headed into Windhelm. She paused at the corner near the Hall of the Dead. Hjerim was that way, but, at this hour Galmar would be in the Palace of the Kings. She debated going to the house and dropping her pack off for Calder to sort through, but all Rozenn wanted, was to see Galmar and a bed, not necessarily in that order.

She opened the Palace door quietly. Jorlief was sitting at the table, and she could hear Ulfric's voice and Galmar's rumbling response in the War Room. She dropped her pack beside a startled Jorlief and all but sprinted towards her husband.

"...I'd follow you into the depths of Oblivion, you know that," Galmar was saying as he felt something warm crash into him from behind, arms wrapping tightly around his waist.

"Ulfric, do me a favour and stay the fuck away from Oblivion. Because I'm damned well NOT going in there after my husband," Rozenn said as she clambered up her husband's body to embrace him properly.

"If you insist, General Stormblade," Ulfric said, inclining his head graciously.

"Ulfric," Galmar said between kissing his wife. "Out."

Ulfric raised his brows. "Are you ordering me out of my own War Room, Galmar?"

"Catches on quickly, doesn't he?" Galmar asked Rozenn, while peeling her out of her armour.

"Mm-hmmm," she replied. "Oh, Galmar, I missed you so!"

Ulfric was too dignified to scurry or retreat, but he departed the room as hastily as his dignity would allow. He had no wish to see his top generals ravish one another!


End file.
